


Nameless.

by soloheir



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24991870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soloheir/pseuds/soloheir
Summary: In a dystopian world, non-conforming humans are hunted by the All-Seeing and its Furies indiscriminately. Survivors have existed on the vestiges of the remaining human ruins outside the All-Seeing's domain. Scavenger, a picker from the survivors is sent to the ruins to search the pit an Steel Cemetery for parts that the survivors need desperately. There she finds more than she bargained for.tw for graphic descriptions of strange things like pooling flesh and organs briefly.reylo is endgame. it is the only game i play.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Reylo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment letting me know if I should keep going? I'd love to hear from you all on if you enjoyed it.

50-10.………………..  _ IS THIS DEATH? MAY A SOULLESS THING DIE? _

50-10.………………..  _ NO. THIS IS STASIS. THAT IS ALL. _

50-10.………………..  _ TO DIE, ONE MUST LIVE. _

50-10.………………..  **PROCESSES TERMINATED . SHUT DOWN FINALIZED .**

⚔ 

Heat ripples across the cracked concrete slabs. Asphalt simmering. They hate it here. There’s nothing here. No plants. No animals. No people. Not this direction at least. A black gloved hand swipes at a sweaty forehead, colliding with the mirrored reflection of a face shield. There’s a snort of derision, then a shrug. How could they forget they were suited up. A collection of various items, dyed black - some with actual dye and others with charcoal and ash smudged over them. It didn’t do shit out here, in the heat.  _ Should have bleached them before I went out. _ There’s no dirt to rub over the fabric, or mud to camouflage themselves. Instead there is concrete, asphalt and sand. The sand is the worst part. It finds every exposed hole in the gear and irritates the skin underneath. 

This is a mistake.

Traveling without protection isn’t smart. Traveling, at all, isn’t smart. With the All-Seeing high in the sky, to be outside is a death wish. They keep their pace steady. Speeding up will only take more energy they don’t have to spare, slowing down will ensure that they are caught.

**When the land becomes silver, you are close. Keep your eyes towards the All-Seeing and make haste towards the pit.**

Directions from the survivors. Old and gnarled, skin leathered and scarred. They looked more like demons than humans. Some had suffered modifications, against their will. Experiments, the survivors called them. A word that held no meaning for anyone who had not lived through it. 

Gaze tracking from the All-Seeing towards the landscape, they took note of their surroundings. The concrete was still just as colorless as before. The pit was becoming visible, or rather the rim of it. Gait slowed to account for the newly diverting path, away from asphalt mirages and towards the blackened, towering rim beginning to emerge from the heated haze.

Walking through the evening and night had only helped them bypass the All-Seeing for so long. Now, they were within the perimeter of the ruins. Humans didn’t go here. Ever. It was a place of death. The pit, so the survivors said, was a mass grave. Bodies wasted away until the bones could go no higher and then, they said, the steel cemetery was born atop them. 

The Steel Cemetary was the destination. Survivors knew of parts needed to continue their existence. Some used words like pacemaker and prosthetic. They must be desperate to send the pickers this far out. This one would not die like the others. They were good at two things, fixing broken things and waiting.

They had waited long enough.

⚔ 

“Another failure?”

The voice draws their attention. Orbs swiveling, gaze seeking out the speaker. A human dressed in beige, outlined in rich blues and purples. Skin swaddled like a newborn in expensive fabrics, yielding the image of a strangely shaped form. The clothes hang, draping the floor, fabrics pooling there. It reminds them of battery acid.  _ The same sort that bleeds out of their own kind when terminated,  _ the system provides. The human's skin mirrored the fabric, seeming to overflow, sag and pool unnaturally. Orbs swivel away, no longer curious.

“Another complication. Yes.”

They could only stare out from their area of containment. Body, not dissimilar in form to the speaking figures, laid pressed against the cold hard steel, strapped and left to wait. Their exoskeleton was beginning to dent under the pressure of the restraints. Soft but unyielding, save for the slice of a sharp scalpel or weapon. An imitation of organic matter. A feeling that should cause discomfort and yet, they felt nothing. 

_ Feelings are chemically induced reactions. This body is not a biological organism _ . The system supplied. Orbs swiveled again, towards the humans now standing closer to them.  _ Inspecting. Assessing. _

“It has intelligence, you say?” The man with pooling skin asked. “How much would you say?”

The other human was clearly in view now. A debilitated sort of creature. Hollowed cheeks and sallow skin -  _ jaundiced, a part of its internal systems supplied automatically _ \- tightly pulled against an oversized skull. Thin skin appears to be the only barrier between the fractured skull and the outer world. The only fabric wrapped around the jaundiced human was a plain beige robe that gave away no more information about them. Except that they were exceptionally thin in comparison.

“Enough to be concerned with… identity.”

The god smiled, amber eyes glistening, skin moist, sweating profusely, though a cool, sterile atmosphere surrounded the three of them.

“Tell me your name.” Tongue flicking out to wet already salted, perspiration covered lips. 

_ Name? I have none. _

“Your request failed, required parameters were not met.”

Jaundiced features curled into a satisfied smirk.

“See, complicated. It wants a  _ name _ .” 

_ It? Is that  _ **my** _ name? _

They stare, it stares back. They shrink under its inspection.  _ FEARFUL _ , it’s systems supply,  _ they are fearful of you. _ The system is one with it, a consciousness, that is both a part of, and separate from it. The system tells him they are  _ uncomfortable _ with naming him. It does not speak anymore. Instead, it listens, learning from them, from the environment, opening it’s orbs to more than the speaking humans. 

“And which iteration is this?”

“This is B-3-N 50-10. He is of the 50-10 line as requested, Exalted One.” 

_ Exalted One. The name of the perspiring man. _ The system recognizes the title but no images or references are pulled to its receptors. Instead, an algorithm plays out in a nanosecond through suddenly sparking synapses.  _ Anger.  _ The system supplies.  _ A human emotion. Wrath. Ire. _

“And its predecessor?”

“5K7-W41-K3R was wiped before transferring the information to it’s secondary processor.”

_ Numbers with no meaning. No name. _

“Excellent. Do not allow it to be named. We have learned from our failures. Send it out. See that it is successful.”

Blue, purple, beige. The colors seep downwards into the pooling fabric.  _ A puddle of blood, its blood,  _ \- no not its, the system's blood. It and the system were not the same but similar. Trailing behind the man, it could almost envision the stains that would have been left behind.

The other human stayed behind, gnarled, spindly fingers unlatching the binds from its arm. Gleefully, a long, thin finger ran over the exposed faux skin at its wrist before releasing the bind with a single finger pad against an identification scanner. The skin was blue from the pressure. It did not move, awaiting its directive. Instead of speaking, the other seemed to inspect and continue touching and studying it for several long minutes.

“You may call me, Leader.” The human said.

_ Leader. Authority. Directive assigner. _

“What will you call me?” 

The Leader sneered. 

_ Dangerous.  _ The system supplied. It accepted the word, incapable of understanding it.  _ Pain. Fear. Survival. _ Again, it accepted the word, without understanding.

“Names are reserved for those worthy of them. You are a machine.”

_ Termination. _ The system supplied at last. It understood now.

⚔ 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pit, known as the steel cemetery, is just beyond the ruins. They know that this is a suicide mission but Maz has entrusted them to prevail where the other Pickers could not. When they find a Fury's body among the scraps of rubble, they're surprised to find that cutting them open reveals more than just circuitry.  
> A fantasy REYLO story that worlds builds and has many canonical elements twisted to fit a new world order. Dystopian Cyber Matrix type vibes inside this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that literally no one cares or wants this but I do and I love and I hope someone else eventually does too. Not beta read or even reread. We die like overworked educators in a pandemic. It's Me-I'm the overworked educator trying not to die. xx Korebuns on twitter and ig.

⚔ 

They stared downwards, the gaping hole felt disconcerting. The inorganic void, filled with metal and scraps, sat nestled between hard sandstone and what the scavenger imagined must be steel. The pit was nestled against the steel wall, hard edges butting against one another. Close enough so that whoever was throwing out the scraps of wires and aluminum would never have to physically leave the safety of the All-Seeing. Rag wrapped toes encased in hard black enamel footwear prod at the items overflowing from the edges. 

There were so many mangled body parts - killbot body parts - that they wondered how any could be left in the steel heavens. Their foot tapped against something immovable and they bent down, leather covered fingers swiping away grime and trying to find a label on the blocky processor they’d uncovered. The label, barely legible, didn’t have what they needed. The elder Maz had been clear - it was imperative that an unmarked medkit be found.

An unmarked medkit, Maz had explained when their eyebrows lifted questioningly at the notion of searching the steel cemetery, would have a very specific infusion set. Beyond that, nothing else was explained. And the scavenger had not asked. It wasn’t their place to ask a question - it was their place to join the other pickers in following the elders' requests. 

Each picker owed the Elder a life debt. They had been found in the desert, half dead and wounded. Maz had saved them. Maz had given them life- the very thing the All-Knowing had tried to take from them. And  _ why? _ They didn’t know.

Picking at the remains of a wired oven, searching for copper, they stood, giving up the search. They wasted no more time on the edges of the pit. Deliberately, slowly they began to step into the pit, balancing on the waste their. Aiming to step on the parts that were most stable, they slowly made their way deeper. The pit was massive, easily several staff lengths long. They nudged at anything that looked remotely promising and stuck their staff deep, searching for anything that felt out of place. 

The medkit would be cloth, Maz had said, and the emblem would not be of the all-knowing but of his predecessor the ‘All-Caring’. The time before All-Knowing seemed to be a story to them. To imagine anything from the steel heavens to be kind seemed unlikely. 

Something flashed in their side vision - staff raised, they bared their teeth. 

_ Nothingness. _ There was nothing. The glinting was not the flash of a weapon that would send shards through their body - or one of the All-Knowings creatures sent to disembowel humans like them - it was something oddly shaped, slightly buried underneath what look like semi fresh scraps. Their eyes lit up. Hopping deftly from one dumping pile to another, narrowly avoiding the sharp edges of jagged, torn metal strips, they made their way closer.

Head cocked from left, then to the right, they stared. It seemed to be a body. Or at least, an imitation of a body. It had limbs and a torso but the head was covered in a dark metal covering, similar to their own but it appeared heavily scarred. Deep burning incisions swept from back to front of the helm, the only indication that this was perhaps the front, was the shape of the torso. The rest of the body was covered in strange, shining material. They weren’t familiar with it. It seemed unnatural. All-Knowing made. From the Steel Heavens, they assumed.

They knocked the helm with their staff, determining if the thing was truly dead or not. Judging on their weather worn clothes and the debris atop them, the scavenger assumed they had been long thrown out. They hit the helm hard a few more times, the resounding claim giving her more worry than than the lifeless thing. 

Picking for Maz was a skill, one learned over many years. First, you never lose track of your surroundings. For that reason, even when inspecting the dumped being, they never stopped flicking their eyes from side to side, watching. Second, anything, even your enemies body could hold something useful. For that reason, they carried a blade among other things - most decidedly less sinister; screwdrivers and wax paper being the most useful.

Crouching low, they scooted until they could squat behind the being, hands running over the shoulders and neck, searching for the helms clasp. Removing it without a knife would be less time consuming and safer. They had witnessed another picker cut without planning once. Their fingers were now conjoined from the acid that ran out, disintegrating the gloves and fingers underneath. Maz had been there. Warm but chastising. The damage had been done. That picker was a gatherer now. Staying close to other gatherers and harvesting through most of the year. A pop alerted them to the unclasping of the helm. 

“That was easier than expected.” They muttered to themselves. Pulling it off and tossing it aside, fingers went back to searching. There was something here they could take, they were sure. This was a find that Maz was sure to appreciate. They just needed to cut out whatever they could find of value and head back. Medkit or not, this was going to help plenty of people back home.

They felt and moved, and prodded for several minutes, aware that they were no close to finding an opening that they could approach safely. Instead, they shifted again, moving until they were staring directly into the slack jawed, strangely blank eyes of the being.  _ Was this a being of Heaven’s fury? _ How did it seem so lifelike. How did the skin still feel soft, even after weeks of being left to rot in a pit of steel death. They hated to think about the smell here- how their were bodies of the elders family buried below the steel scraps.

Gritting their teeth, they remove their gloves, only for a moment, touching the organic imitation of skin stretched across the furies face, prodding at it with the tip of their thumb. There was an incision there. The Fury's flesh tacky and gnarled where it had begun the process of repair- likely moments after being thrown to the pit. They turned, listening to the winds, ears perked for even the barest of noises. It was late now, darkness was coming. Darkness meant safety in the survivors camp- but not when the steel heavens were apt to crack open at any moment, spilling vile, disgusting, inhuman seed into the earth. 

The Furies were coming soon. 

⚔ 

The ripping of faux flesh felt more real than they expected. Furies were hard; created from the core of the Steel Heavens. The exoskeletons were typically coated in a thin, poor excuse of organic matter. Nothing like their own flesh. This Fury felt like something from nightmares. Something so close to real that it gave them pause as they slid the blade between the semi-healed scar and split it apart. Beneath the layer of humanity, peeled back and exposing the true creature beneath it, she could see its truth. Steel. 

Any discomfort that they had previously felt in cutting it open dissipated. Thin fingers felt inside the gash, searching for something that might be useful. The insides of a Fury were not usually so pristine- or lifelike. The pickers would be proud of this find. They could use his flesh to serve others and his limbs could go to the wounded. Second hand limbs were rarely in this state. The survivors never wandered so close to the heavens. The last limbs they had found were encased in years of sand and grime. Hard usable from the rust. 

Pulling back it’s eyelid and peering into the strange lifelessness of the hazel orb- uncomfortably lifelike and seemingly fine with the exception of dust covering it- they let themselves admit out loud their thoughts.

“You were some thing special, weren’t you?”

A scraped Fury with craftsmanship like this seemed out of place here- wrong even. If any of their senses had been ringing with paranoia, they might have suspected a trap but the air was still. The night was even quieter as the sun dipped nearly out of sight.

They took the knife again and began to carve in the Fury's gut, looking for its core. That would be easier to carry right now. They could return with other pickers tomorrow to get the limbs. They had to. The medkit was still lost to the pit. Buried somewhere. The gut spilled open and they blanched at the sight- organs spilled out of the gash just slightly.

“Why?” They whispered, finger prodding at the sacks of innards and curiously beginning to wonder what else was different about this Fury’s internal organs. The core wasn’t there. Only emptied intestines and rigid musculature. They pulled back their own mask, giving themselves only momentary reprieve as they sipped their water supply. Thumb swiping at the little bit that trickled onto their lip as they drank. They shrugged, eyes flicking from the wet thumb to the dirty, dust matted eyes on the fury. 

They wanted to see them more clearly- wanted to see if they were like their own eyes. Soft and easy to injure. The idea of a Fury with oozing eye sockets turned their stomach but not their intent. Wet thumb wiping at the orbs surface- it twitched. 

They jerked away- attempting to raise their staff rapidly, only to fall back- balance lost on the precariously stacked steel scraps.

Swiping at their mask and pulling it down immediately, they rolled onto their belly hunkering close to the objects they had lost their balance in. They surveyed the area, desperate to make sure they had not been seen or heard. The pit must be too close for Furies to watch, they tell themselves desperately after no one appears. Their heartbeat pounds in their chest. They repeat that sentence and others over and over -  _ Furies wouldn’t concern themselves with the pit. The pit is a lost mass grave of no importance. The Furies would have killed you by now if they had heard you. _

Minutes pass, air pulled through their nose- and exhaled through their lips, a silent mantra. They’re too experienced to be scared so easily, like a youthful picker on their first journey. Grunting, they rise up, eyes searching for their dropped staff and water canister. They see the blinking Fury before they see the canister emptied across the Fury’s abdomen. The large, hacked out hole filled in with fake flesh as if they hadn't gutted him moments before. The gash across its face still there, only redder and more unsettling. It looks human.

They eye their staff, lunging for it. Chest heaving as they watch it wildly. It hasn’t moved, it’s only blinking. Empty, lifeless. A reanimated corpse. They know better than to run. They’ve heard stories. Furies are fast, fearless, volatile animals that seek human bone and burning flesh. Maz told her that much. That the limbs and experiments the Elders faced were their fault. They knew that much. They refused to die here. 

“Name.” The Fury speaks, lips hardly moving as it speaks. The flesh on its face moving disjointedly. “Name. Name. Name.” It repeats. Voice deepening as it gains more control of its tongue.

They slap at it, staff hitting against its shoulder. “Be quiet! Turn off!”

It goes quiet. Eyes, once glazed and unfocused, narrow. Attention now directed entirely at them. “I am It.”

“Stop talking!” Two words, hissed through gritted teeth. They should have taken the head off the first time. Should have cut out its fake organs and harvested them and ran.

“Are you a Failed one?” It asks, limbs beginning to forcefully move impossibly heavy steel from its legs- freeing itself from a steel prison. “I am It.” 

“No- No- I’ll fight you. Don’t come closer!”

They panicked, turning on their heels and taking off, jumping from steel scrap to beams to landing on anything that looked remotely stable. They turned back to find the Fury. The spot it sat, a crater devoid of any being. They turned back, heart racing, stumbling as It stared down at them. 

“Let me go!” They yelled. The loud reaction only served to elicit a curious, sideways expression from the Fury. 

“I am not imprisoning you.” The being said, although its words were drowned out by a much louder commanding voice.

> ** **TERMINATE CODE 5010 LOCATED.**** The fury continuously said as it approached. It's voice unnaturally loud.

** “Danger approaches Failed One.” It said out loud. **

They and It turned to face the voice. Cold, toneless and devoid of anything remotely human. The Furies had come finally. They held up their staff, refusing to let themselves scream. Fingers shaking around the weapon, their chest quivering with nervousness. They would fight, or they would die. There would be no celebration of their capture. They would die before the Furies were allowed to harvest her for experiments.

“Are you of Heaven, Failed One?” It asked them. 

They stood there, unhearing watching this new Fury come closer, until It repeated the question. Mask still firmly hiding the scavengers expression, teeth bared and nose scrunched tight. Failed one of Elders, perhaps, but never of Heaven.

“I’d die before I allowed Heaven to take me.” They spit.

The sounds of the Fury approaching them continued to get louder, repeating the same line over and over, no doubt signaling somehow back to the others. Could there be more? Could they have truly failed Maz so terribly in these last moments. They were a Scavenger. It was their birthright, their chosen name. To die in a pit of scraps felt honorable at least.

They choked as the air rushed from their lungs, the feeling of being slung against their will to the edge of the pit where sandstone met steel hurt- a lot. They gasped for air, turning to their side as they attempted to crawl away. It had thrown them- several staff lengths like an empty satchel. The scavenger rolling onto their back, attempted to dig out the secondary knife from their pocket- eyes watering as they swiped at them, attempting to see thier aggressor.

Instead, It was still standing where it had been when it attacked them. Staring directly at the other Fury. They had never seen Furies like this before today- up close and personal. Their heart was close to ripping through the scavengers rib cage. They couldn’t catch their breath, the panicked inhales hardly enough to help them. It only took a moment for their heart to stop completely.

It held out a hand, and the other creature began to slow down. Swaying, precariously wobbling as the opposing Fury's speech became garbled. Inconsistent sounds escaping every other syllable. It seemed to be in control of the other Fury. Stopping them from moving any farther and then approaching the Fury slowly and deliberately, It's digits still outstretched, touching the Furies face. Lifting it so that both their strange, lifelike orbs stared into one another. 

“Heaven will not take me alive either.” 

Then the Fury went dark. Eyes and body no longer lit with light. The lines that covered it’s body like straightened lightning strikes went dark. Even the Scavenger knew that it was dead. There was something horrible in the way life left it, no matter how inhuman it was. Their chest suddenly filled with air as It turned back towards the Scavenger. They would be next. How would it feel? Would the life expel from them as easily as from the Fury. 

Was this thing not a Fury? Was it an enemy of Heaven and an enemy of the Elders? They didn’t close their eyes. They refused. They stared into the darkness, the light reflecting from the unnaturally the shiny orbs staring back.

“Stand up, Failed One.” It said. Tone empty. Unaffected by its own violence. They tried, moving to stand up but finding their legs collapsed under the weight. As if the sight of death had stolen their use. They were shaking. Quivering. Quaking under the gaze of this thing. It seemed to understand their inability and instead crouched down. The open gash turned their stomach to see so intimately. The discomfort of its realism gave them a knot in their throat. It asked a question while they waited for them to find their footing. “Why would you come to this place of death?”

They blinked. Hands digging into the ground, scooting back to put distance between themselves and It. “Medkit.” Simple. To the point. They moved their hand slightly closer to their leg, feeling the knife hilt.

“I estimate 15 in the vicinity.”

“What?” They didn't trust It. It was tricking them. They were sure. What other reason could there be?

“There are 15 in the vicinity.” It repeated. 

“Just kill me if you’re going to.” They snapped, tired of being toyed with like one of the sand lizards the kids would play with and tease until its tail popped off and it ran for safety. They stared at It , daring him to draw out the weaponized digits that Heaven had given him. Their knife was just nearly close enough to pull if It raised a hand.

“No harm will come to you, Failed one.”

“I’m not FAILED ONE. I’m SCAVENGER.” They bit out. Fingers curling into fists. They didn’t understand the title but it felt dirty. Like something Heaven must have come up with. Like the experiments.

“Scavenger? Is that your name? I am It.”

“That’s not a name.” They say before thinking. Immediately they clamp their mouth shut. Equal amounts of fear and defiance. It might let them live if they're nice but the Scavenger had never been very good at making peace.

“I am worthy of a name. I am It.” The tone was different. It had something strange to it. They stared at It, and It stared back. A similar defiance in both their expressions.

“I just meant It’s not a name. It is a thing. You are … not a thing. You’re a Fury.”

“Scavenge is an action. You are a being.”

They sit for several seconds, the silence eating at the Scavengers nerves. They finally break away, staring out at the hulking pile that is the dead Fury. Maz could use a few more dead furies. 

“They will not harm you. They are terminated.”

A distrustful expression mars the features under the mask. If It senses their distrust they make no sign of it. Instead they speak up again.

“You desire a medkit?”

“I need a certain one. I need one from before --,” They can’t help but look at the hulking steel corpse as if afraid it will reanimate, “the All-Knowing became God.”

“The system has supplied me with a description. The era of All-Caring is not so long ago. Let me scan this place.” Long, digits splay open again, out towards the pit. They shrink away, afraid to be burnt by whatever it is that It emits from themselves. Unlike the dead Fury, It seems to be something  _ special _ . Something that talks, that heals, that can kill without touch. They barely have time to fathom what a System might be before It speaks again. Unlike the Scavenger, it seems to have no problem speaking. “You fear me? I did away with the violence. I terminated the violence. Why should you fear me?”

“You killed it. You could kill me.” They said, voice close to yelling. Fingers now entirely closed around the blades hilt as they held it close to their chest, defensively. It never looked back. That scared them more. It was unafraid.

“I terminated a soulless thing. A nameless thing.”

“You’re a nameless thing, too.” They says, spite in their voice. Unwilling to empathize. Maz warned her. Furies were animals. Violent. And creators were worse. They made Heaven’s Furies and then let them go unchecked, killing, massacring those who refused to become exalted. They still didn’t know what that entailed. Speaking too much of the Heaven’s was frowned upon. Only cautionary tales were allowed.

“I am It.” 

They found their footing, standing up and putting space in between them. Finding the more distance, the less weight they had on their chest. They search for their staff, all the while keeping the scouring Fury at arms length. It walked up and down the pit, arm extended as if it could sense through the rubble somehow. 

They didn’t ask questions, gathering what they could find from their earlier picking and then, noticing the glinting silver of the helm beside her spilled satchel, picked up the helm, inspecting it. 

“If you’re not of heaven- and you’re not… nameless. What are you?”

"I am It." It says back, voice carrying from several staffs away. They narrows their eyes at It, even though he can't see it. Apparently, It has good hearing as well.

They tucked the helm under their arm and slowly made their way back to the sandstone lining the outer edge of the pit, keeping It at a distance the entire time. Long moments passed, the moon moving in the sky more than they liked to admit, before they found their courage to scavenge from the Fury that It had terminated.

There were plenty of differences between them, more than there were similarities. They noticed the skin covering this fury was ashen, like charcoal rubbed over a soft, elastic canvas. The skin on It, even when It was dead- _if It even was dead_ \- had a softness to it that felt human- like the skin of youths who haven’t yet been burnt by the wastelands’ heat. 

The hair was not individual strands like Its' hair either. Instead there was the illusion of strands through what felt like strange clumps of fabric. They scavenged the Fury's ‘hair’ with a few short swipes of their blade, after the skin and fabrics were removed too. 

The inside of the Fury was purple and blue, with green circuits and gold wiring. Nothing like what they had seen inside It. It had steel and copper but there were veins and vessels- and organs. They shook themselves, trying to stop remembering the strange emotions the feeling of cutting into It had given them.

“Here.”

They screamed. Sound aborted by their own hand flying up to cover their mouth. Anger boiled up in their chest. How stupid were they? To be so distracted that an enemy could sneak up.

“The medkit you needed.” It stood less than a staff length away, the medkit held out for them to take.

“And what do you want for it?” They said, voice still an octave higher than it should have been.

“I did not procure it to barter. I intend to help you Scavenger.”

“I don’t know what that means- procure? Barter? Speak survivor.”

“I mean, I am not trying to,” It stops for a moment, debating on word choice, “scavenge. I want to help.”

“You mean you want me to trust you so you can kill my family? No. I’m not stupid.”

“Lying is a trait of the heavens not the nameless.”

They have a hard time arguing with that. It’s true that Furies had never lied in stories- but until today they’d never met one, so what do they know? The stories were either incorrect that Maz and the other survivors told or they had evolved beyond their old models.

“Here. As payment.” They said gruffly, jerking the medkit from Its' hand and instead shoving the helm directly into Its' stomach. The gaping hole in the fabric was made more strange by the healed area beneath.

It places the mask over their features, cutting off his expressions from them. The black helm is intimidating regardless of his stature and when he speaks, they jerk their head to make sure they haven’t been surprised by another Fury. The voice that emits from within is like the other Fury now. Disembodied, metallic and unfeeling. It feels more sinister now. Expression masked.

"Where now, Scavenger?"


End file.
